


for the first time

by intertwiningwords



Category: bare: A Pop Opera - Hartmere/Intrabartolo
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, POV Second Person, So I did a sad, Zoe inspired me to try something new!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intertwiningwords/pseuds/intertwiningwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>looking back on the years of peter and jason's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for the first time

**Author's Note:**

> this is a totally different style of writing for me so i apologize if it wasn't executed well! i. gonna fail science and spanish because i spent both those periods writing this. anyway, i hope you enjoy this.

He was your everything for four years.  
You were only thirteen when you met him for the first time, and he held out his hand, shot you a grin, and said, “I’m Jason.” You had turned red, shook his hand, stuttered out your name. He was cute, you were shy and you knew you liked boys.  
You were taken instantly when you met him- nearly a foot taller than you had been, with bright blue eyes and a smile that shone as bright as the sun. He was smart, smarter it seemed than you could even fathom, and he could make you cry with laughter at his jokes. And on top of that, he had a heart of gold, full of kindness. You refused to admit your crush on him for the longest time, but it was inevitable.  
You were fourteen when you kissed him for the first time; a quick, sweet, stolen, secret moment. He had kissed you back, tentatively, and pulled away with wide eyes. Then, he kissed you again, this time he initiated it, his hands holding the sides of your face, first gentle like you were made of glass, then rougher as you kissed him back, hard.  
You were fifteen when you told him that you loved him for the first time. It was a quick, breathless whisper in the dark, and he had grabbed you and kissed you. It felt like you were flying. Now you know he did it to avoid saying it back.  
You dreamed of a perfect world, where people would accept your love. Where you could hold his hand without fear, kiss him in public. Now you know he didn’t want that. Or, at least, he wasn’t willing to fight for it. And even if it did exist, he wouldn’t take advantage of it.  
You were sixteen when you slept with him for the first time. It wasn’t exactly like you imagined. It was awkward, messy, and full of laughter. But it was perfect to you. You fell asleep beside him, in that tiny dorm room bed, head on his shoulder, a smile on your face despite the slight soreness.  
You were upset when he became distant. Kisses were quicker, sex no longer had laughter. He didn’t sit with you during class or at sermons. He talked less, worked more, smiled less, forced it more. You tried to make him feel better, and he shut you out even more. You tried to ignore it, and it hurt you even more.  
You were seventeen when he couldn’t kiss you inside. When he told you to stop acting like his boyfriend, even though that’s what you thought you were. When he shoved you to the ground. Told you to stop living a fantasy.  
You were crying when he told you, “we can’t keep pretending.” When he told you, “this needs to stop.” You cried, you fought him, tried to make him stay. You let him drag you into the dark all those years, and now you were swallowed whole without him.  
You were furious when he cheated on you. With a girl. Ivy was only seventeen when she got pregnant, even though Jason told you he hadn’t slept with her. He lied to you, and you couldn’t fully forgive him.  
You were ashamed when you were outed. By a friend. Matt was only seventeen when he fucked up everything, in a fit of jealousy and confusion. He betrayed you, and you couldn’t fully forgive him.  
You were free when you felt validated. God don’t make no trash, apparently. You got out, escaped the dark, lept into a new world that feared you. Your mother feared. Your classmates feared.  
Jason feared. (You left him there in the dark.)  
You were torn when he begged you to run away with him.  
“We can leave right now!”  
You told him no. You couldn’t let him drag you back into the dark, you wouldn’t let him. You gave him one final kiss, tears rolling down your cheeks. You still loved him, but it was time to move on.  
You were only seventeen when the boy that you’d spent four years loving collapsed and died of an overdose, intentional or not, Jason was dead. You held him in your arms, crying and begging for one last chance to say goodbye. To see his shining smile, hear his laugh, see his eyes sparkle, listen to him rant, just watch his chest move up and down as he breathed one more time.  
At least he died knowing you loved him, right?  
At least you got those four years, because they were beautiful. They were awkward, messy, and full of laughter. They were painful, and complicated. But overall, your love for him was pure, and nobody could ever convince you otherwise. You loved him, and in the end, he told you he loved you too. Dared to speak the words aloud, finally.  
You are twenty, and you are happy for the first time in years. You are better. You are out of the dark, you are in college, you are still close with your friends. Jason is gone, but you still have Nadia, Ivy, and Lucas. You even still have Matt. And you will find love in another boy, with just as bright a smile and just as bright a mind. But this one will hold your hand in public and kiss you in front of his friends. This one will be different. You will be free, in the light.  
You are twenty, and for the first time, you feel like you’ve moved on. Obviously you haven’t forgotten him. How could you? You still dream about him sometimes, still think about him. Pictures of you two, stood just a bit too close, your arms around each other just a bit too tightly, they are found in old scrapbooks. You keep some of them. But looking back isn’t painful, at least, not always. Not anymore. You treasure those four years.  
He was your everything for four years, but for the first time, you are your own person. And you are okay.


End file.
